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The dawning of the spring season seems to intensely represent the force and power of life. Daffodils rise from the dry, cold, frozen ground to testify that life shall go on. The days slowly lengthen and the gentle, yet insistent chirping of our feathered friends fill the morning air. I am moved to reflect on the beauty, majesty and grace unfurling in nature … the timelessness and sanctity of a tale as old as time, the continual birth and rebirth of the seasons. I am reminded of the impermanence of life and am inspired to remember those who will not bear witness to this particular change of season. In my professional roles as a private-duty home care nurse and hospice nurse, I have been present at the bedside of many individuals suffering from long-term chronic illness. Many of those people had been diagnosed with diseases that would limit their life expectancy. Patients would sometimes express the fear of dying, the fear of being forgotten, the fear that the memory of one’s existence would be lost to time and circumstance. I once cared for a man, Chris, who was deeply afraid that his life had been pointless. He feared that once he died, he would experience complete “annihilation” – it would be as though he had never lived and therefore that his life had no value. Though he had loved, married, fathered children, founded a non-profit organization, authored several books, and lived a full, rich life, he was overcome with these uncertainties. I usually cared for him overnight, so the quiet and peace would often invite deep introspective discussions regarding a variety of topics. At the time, I did not know how to comfort him or even if he was expecting me to. I really wanted to have some valuable insights or a consoling anecdote or a quote to share with him to assuage his worries. But I did not. I could only offer a friendly ear, so I listened carefully. In his voice, I heard the pain of one who would truly miss being with all he loved and wondered if they would miss him too. Chris frequently and freely shared of himself – his ideas, his theories, and his passions. He built many long-term relationships and left a lasting impression on those who met him. If you spent time with Chris, you laughed. If you were in his company, you were just as likely warmed by his smile as informed of his firm convictions. If I could go back and relive the moment when Chris first shared his fears, I would not change a thing. I would listen carefully; I would simply honor the words of a very ill man wrestling with his mortality. I believe he wanted to be heard and I honored that by listening to him. In his words and his fear of irrelevance came a deeply powerful lesson from Chris – that human connection is the source of infinite births and rebirths and that our imprint on others, like the seasons, may ebb and flow, but continues to evolve, even after our eventual death. Fear in the face of the unknown is normal, but need not be . And while loss is invariably painful, it can also be beautiful, expansive, and lead to birth or rebirth of knowledge, sentiments, or fuel new life itself. Grief, like nature herself, is a wise teacher, and we can welcome those new seasons and new teachings when and as they arrive.
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